There’s a light / A certain kind of light
The Bee Gees, To Love Somebody
I was aware of it in the late afternoon, in those brief moments last week when the sun broke through the clouds. It was lower in the sky, marking the equinox. The table where I work has a glass surface and it is next to the large window that looks out to the patio; now, when it’s time for tea in the afternoon I must place my cup where the sunlight strikes the table, removing the brilliant glare. It’s the same table where the fruits and vegetables rest.
A number of doors in the casita are difficult to close because the wet weather has caused the the woodwork to swell. I’ve taken to wearing my hoodie when I go out as it’s just that much cooler than it was, especially in the early morning.
The young Mexican women in the JA office all asked if I attended las fiestas de la Independencia and when I said no, they acted slightly surprised, yet none of them went to the parties either.
F has had pneumonia the past two weeks so I haven’t read to him.
By the end of the month my son and his family will have left the SF Bay Area for Portland, OR – a move that I hope will be good for them.
Yesterday was Foghorn’s birthday and she had a celebration, to which she invited me a half-hour before the party. It was one of those cya invitations so that if the noise grew loud or late, she could claim that she’d invited me. She has a cat named Deano, and she often has to call for it, especially before she turns in for the night, and her voice is so hoarse and throaty from cigarette smoking that it sounds very much like “Beano, Beano.”
On the television front, the news from Mexico (how la ciudad is sometimes called within the country) was police marching through the zocalo, chasing the striking teachers from their encampments. It was probably better that the police disperse them than subject them to the crowds that might have trampled them during the El Grito celebration. The PBS station out of Seattle is in the middle of a pledge drive and has been showing hour after hour of oldies music including a cheesy celebration of Burt Bachrach songs, which I happen to enjoy immensely. There was a time when I so wanted to be able to sing all those songs as did Dionne or Dusty or Jackie.
Aretha. There’s been no one like her.